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“A little.” I need to get away from both of them and fast, but there’s a part of me that wants this man’s hands on me, maybe moving lower. As if someone else just didn’t cop a feel beneath my skirt.
This dress demands commando in all areas, and I’m beginning to regret it.
“I’ll be your knight.” He offers me a smile as he leads me from the dancefloor and out the door, away from Jac’s glare.
Not that Hendrick actually gives me a choice, his hand on me is a touch too firm and his steps a little too determined. It’s force wrapped in elegance and finesse. So much so that I’m impressed.
Also, he’s taking me closer to where I want to be as he leads me upstairs, past rooms full of people. He opens a door at the far end. It’s a cozy little nook. The blueprint had it, but it’s been turned into a dark wood and velvet and leather reading room with scatter cushions and big chairs carefully curated to complement each other even as they’re mismatched.
On two walls are floor to ceiling bookcases, and there’s a beautiful, worn and gleaming ladder to whizz along on and select a book from the highest level. He waves me into a seat and pours two drinks from a decanter on a side table. He holds up one of the short, rounded glasses.
“Here.” He hands me the glass and leans against the wall opposite, collecting his. Then he crosses one ankle over the other, his elegant and power radiating.
It’s almost cultured animalistic prowess, and it makes my stomach twist and swoop with longing. Lust.
He’s watching me, nowhere near as overtly as Jac, but it’s that same feel. Sure, he’s looking at me, but it’s deep. Like he’s looking for something else. Something specific.
“Thanks,” I say. I take a sip. It’s smooth, complex—the Japanese whiskey he favors.
He takes a swallow of his and closes his eyes a moment, like it’s a brief flash of appreciation.
Hendrick doesn’t drink it for the name or pomp. He drinks it because he loves the taste. I like that. And I get the feeling if it was moonshine or twelve dollars a bottle of the crap Harry drinks and he loved it, he’d order it when out.
Or be drinking it here. Appearances be damned.
Though, I can’t picture him liking something that wasn’t complex. Like he is.
“Tell me something,” he says, swirling his drink in the glass as he looks down at it. Then his gaze comes to mine, and it’s nothing short of an electric zap. “Elena.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“What’s your honest opinion of my gala?”
I stare at him a moment. Then I take a swallow, a small one. “Pompous.”
“Fuck, should I even ask about this…fucking place?”
“I like this room,” I say.
He smiles again, the rare one that’s got no agenda behind it. “Me, too. I think I like five rooms in this overgrown mansion. But it’s the family place. And…pompous is what these things do best.”
“Galas or mansions?”
“Both.”
My heart squeezes tight. I’ve met three versions of Hendrick. They’re all him, but like a perfectly cut and polished gem, he’s got many facets. But this one, the Hendrick who’s a little contemplative, who’s funny, who’s more at ease, is my favorite.
Of course, I don’t doubt he wants information. He might not know what, but he wants it.
“If I could stay in here and host remotely, I would.”
“Well,” I say, giving him a genuine smile of my own, “if you did that, I’ve got a feeling there’d be a lot of disappointed people.”
“I can think of one who’d be ecstatic.”
Jac Miller.
I let his comment pass me by.
